Rendezvous
by Niamh McNamara
Summary: A meeting. The setting? A car… (Slight spoiler for Terma)


Title - Rendezvous  
Author – Niamh McNamara  
E-Mail address – niamh666@hotmail.com  
Rating – PG-13  
 Summary – A meeting. The setting? A car… Slight spoiler for Terma…

Disclaimer – Don't own 'em… never have… and *sob* never will…

A/N – Please do not archive anywhere else without my permission. However, if you ask for it, you are likely to get itJ

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The car is black, with dark windows, obscuring anyone and anything inside of it. Parked at the side of the road, in one of those less trustworthy districts, it waits silently. A neon sign blinks forlornly on a wall, wordlessly alluring those less scrupulous in choosing their cheap enjoyment. The faint light is reflected in the dark matter that is the car, and reversed letters is alternately echoed on the blank surface. A man walks towards it, with determined long strides. His worn, black leather jacket glistens in the streetlights, accentuating his dark hair and deep, green eyes. As he comes closer to the car, he huddles up inside his open jacket, drawing it close with his right hand. The left is hanging unused at his side. A small bulge can be seen through the jacket just above the lining of his pants, presumably caused by the handle of a gun. Within moments, he reaches out his right hand, opens the back door of the car, and climbs in. Beside him on the seat is another man, older, whose face is far more lined than the formers. The man in the leather jacket is silent. His right hand is clutching his left, and he keeps the jacked carefully covering his gun. The other man is also quiet, but takes out a cigarette and lights it. After a first, deep inhalation, he begins to talk. 

"You came."

Simple words, yet full of hidden meanings, making the first man wonder which one of them is real. Eventually, he settles for a small nod, and says:

"Did I really have a choice?"

"Oh, " the smoking man muses lightly, "One always have a choice." 

Again, silence. After a few moments, the older man sighs, letting loose a puff of smoke. 

"Do you have it?"

The other man casts a wary eye on the other. 

"What if I do?"

"Well, then you'd give it to me, of course. Or," turning to look at him, "do you have other plans?"

The younger man looks him squarely in the eyes for a while, and then looks away, out of the window. The houses can be seen only as shadows through the darkened glass, and the lights seem miles away. After a moment, he turns his face towards the smoker once again. 

"I want out."

The words hang heavy in the air, and as the smoking man slowly puts out the remains of his cigarette, he finally responds. 

"Impossible."

"Why?"

The challenge is evident in the younger man's voice, and his blazing green eyes do not leave the other's. 

"Why? You ought to know, Aleksei. I cannot protect you forever."

"I have paid my debt to you, several times over. I want out." 

The younger man's tone has a hint of desperation in it, as if fighting a battle already lost.  The older man's, however, reveals no emotion. He takes out a new cigarette, and lights it, relishing in its taste. 

"You have done nothing that could not have been done by someone else." A short, tantalising silence. "You have yet to prove your indispensability."

"What do you want from me?"

"You know what I want, for now. Give it to me, and perhaps I'll reconsider your part in this."

Reluctantly, he takes out a disc from an obscure pocket in his leather jacket. The smoking man's eyes light up at the sight, and he lets out a relieved stream of grey smoke. He takes the disc, and puts it safely away in one of his own pockets. He then looks at the man sitting next to him, and says dismissively:

"I'll contact you."

At his words, a black clad man opens the car door from outside, and the younger man reluctantly climbs out. The door is closed again, the driver gets in the seat and the car takes off with a screech. The man is now alone on the road, and as he walks away with the air of a defeated man, he stops only to kick the water post, hard. A violently uttered word,

"Dermo!" 

And with last look at the sporadically blinking sign, he is gone. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Reviews are totally and utterly appreciated. A short note, an analysis… whatever, it's all nice to get! So, pleeeeease……….. 


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